


Packing Heat

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Armor Kink, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve's usually a private kind of guy, and in Tony's experience Steve has never before been down to raw Tony on the briefing-room table. But Steve isn't one hundred percent Steve right now. It's not a dealbreaker.
Relationships: Phoenix Force/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 32
Kudos: 267
Collections: You Gave Me A Stocking 2020





	Packing Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/gifts).



> kiyaar: prompt: tony gets boned by the phoenix force  
> Sineala: i thought that was the plot of AvX  
> kiyaar: right  
> kiyaar: but this time it’s happy boning and the bone is Steve’s flaming cock
> 
> I LIVE TO SERVE.
> 
> Spoilers for Avengers v8 #40, by which I mean that Steve is possessed by the Phoenix Force. Other than that, let's just say this story bears a fairly loose relationship to canon.
> 
> Thanks to Blossom for beta.

Tony watches Steve stumble inside, bloodied, swaying on his feet, but he left Doom behind him, so he must have won. He sketches the bones of the tale to the rest of the team -- the Phoenix Force. Possession. The battle.

T'Challa nods, gives orders, and the rest of the Avengers slowly filter out of the room, until it's just him and Steve left, standing at opposite ends of the room, on the same side of the long briefing-room table.

And then Steve looks up, and fire sparks hot in his eyes. Could be lust. Could be a flaming space death bird. _Six of one, half dozen of the other_ , Tony thinks, as something wild in the back of his mind laughs with delight.

Steve's uniform shifts, warps, changes into shimmering gold. A Phoenix Host. He's emblazoned in shining flames, crimson and gold. There's a bird insignia on his chest and another one on his cowl, in the middle of his forehead, where the A usually is. Objectively, he should look ridiculous.

Subjectively, Tony's getting hard. Fast.

"It's still in you," Tony says, taking a step forward. It's not a question. It doesn't need to be.

The next thing he says really needs to be a question, but he's having trouble coming up with something more creative than _nice uniform, wanna fuck?_

Steve licks his lips, nods. Takes a step of his own toward him, not quite coming all the way up to meet Tony, not yet.

"If you don't want this," Steve says, his voice rough, raspy, smoky from the flame burning inside his soul, "now would be a great time to leave the room."

Looks like Tony doesn't actually need to do the asking. It's nice to know they're already on the same page.

Tony smiles back, closed-mouthed. He loosens his tie, lets it hang around his neck. He undoes the top button of his dress shirt. Steve's gaze flicks between Tony's mouth, his bare throat, and gratifyingly, crudely, lower still. Tony fondles himself through his pants, obvious and showy, pulling the fabric tight over his cock. The shaft of his cock lies against his left thigh; he's hard enough that he's leaking already, dampening the fabric. Tony knows Steve enjoys knowing what side he dresses on.

"I've got lube in my pocket," is what Tony says instead.

Game on.

Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat: dry, parched, needy, the crackling of a wildfire hitting a tree-lined ridge. But he stays right where he is.

Tony fishes the single-use lube packet out of his coat, takes the coat off, folds it over the nearest chair -- he wasn't raised by wolves, thank you, and this is a Van Dyne original -- flips the lube packet onto the table, and waits.

It's Steve's move now.

Keeping the rest of him perfectly still, Tony glances over to the open doorway, a query and a warning. The voices of the rest of the Avengers are too faint for him to hear now. It's unlikely that any of them are going to need to come back here anytime in the next hour or so. However, Steve's usually a private kind of guy, and in Tony's experience Steve has never before been down to raw Tony on the briefing-room table where anyone could, theoretically, walk right past and see them. But there's a first time for everything, and Steve isn't one hundred percent Steve right now. 

It's not a dealbreaker. 

Tony prefers to think of himself as _risk-aware_. 

Also, Jesus, he's so hard he can't think of anything else.

And, even better, Steve is obviously well on his way to joining him. Steve usually wears a cup under his uniform to avoid embarrassing accidents, but the Phoenix Force's fashion makeover seems to have had no such polite niceties. Steve is... yeah, Steve is definitely packing some serious heat.

_In several senses_ , Tony thinks, and he bites the inside of his cheek hard so he doesn't laugh at his own stupid joke.

Steve's smile is sharp, filthy, and knowing, like he's undressing Tony with his eyes right now. And then he moves on to the actual undressing; he turns one hand palm-up and starts working on the fastenings of the golden bracer he's wearing, buckled all down the inside of his arm.

Tony's always been hot for armor. So sue him. He's pretty sure that's not a secret to any of the Avengers. He does appreciate the inherent eroticism of stripping a man out of a nice suit of plate armor. Not that Steve's wearing full plate, but it's definitely enough to get Tony going.

Steve's fingers are dextrous on the buckles, and soon enough he's loosened the bracer entirely, sliding it off his arm and setting it on the table next to him. A few more seconds and he's worked off the glove underneath, leaving his arm bare to the elbow. He turns his other arm over, ready to repeat the process on the other side, but Tony holds up his hand.

"Wait."

Steve, bless him, stops instantly, which makes Tony feel a whole lot better about doing this. He tilts his head to the side, confused; his eyes narrow and his face starts to close off, his smile fading as he reaches entirely the wrong conclusion.

"Not like that," Tony clarifies. "I want this. I want you. I want you so much. I just-- I want you to keep the rest of it on. Please." 

He can feel his face heat up. He doesn't think he's ever asked Steve for anything like this before, though it isn't like he hasn't wanted to; Steve can't possibly have missed how much Tony likes the look of him in uniform. He just felt too ashamed to ever ask for it, like it would have been objectifying Steve, like Steve would have thought he only liked him for the way he filled out his outfit.

But, well, Tony's pretty sure he only gets to do this particular thing once, and he'll be damned if he doesn't at least try to have exactly what he wants. Steve's definitely going to get exactly what he wants, so why shouldn't Tony?

Steve glances down at the rest of himself, and he doesn't look judgmental, but he still looks a little confused, like he isn't sure how to give Tony exactly what he wants. "All of it?" he asks. He sounds a little dubious, like he can't figure out how that works. Like he's still not quite sure this is what Tony really wants.

"Please," Tony says again. Obviously Steve's going to have to remove some of it, but this-- this is really doing it for Tony. It's a good look on him. It's a really good look. Steve looks like a _god_. Tony supposes he sort of is.

Steve smiles that smile again, focused, determined. "And what if I want everything you're wearing to be on the floor, hmm?"

There are probably several good reasons not to get naked in the briefing room, but right now Tony can't call any of them to mind.

"Mmm," Tony says. "Then maybe you'll have to come here and help me out."

The empty space between them diminishes to nothing. Steve is across the room in an instant, a blaze jumping a firebreak. And then Steve pulls him into his arms.

Steve has one hand -- the gloved one -- across the small of Tony's back, holding him tight. His bare hand runs through Tony's hair, over the nape of his neck, across his cheekbones, like he can't seem to pick a spot and settle. Tony gasps in surprise when Steve's hand brushes his skin, because Steve is _hot_.

One quirk of the serum is that Steve's always run a little warm, ever since Tony's known him. His temperature's never outrageously high, but whenever the Avengers have had occasion to get his vitals, he's always at least 99. Tony likes it. Steve's always pleasantly toasty. He's nice in the winters. It's not like Tony only likes him for his warmth, but, well, he has some bad associations with snowstorms. So, on the whole, Tony really enjoys the fringe benefits.

But now Steve isn't just warm. He's undeniably hot, fever-hot. At this distance, Tony can see that his eyes are just a little brighter than they should be, and there's a fine sheen of sweat along his jaw.

"All right?" Steve whispers, and in response Tony leans in to kiss him.

Steve's mouth is as hot as the rest of him. His kiss is deep, strong, and eager, as he licks into Tony's mouth. Tony moans and lets him take exactly what he wants, and Steve clutches him tighter and rubs frantically up against him like he's rapidly approaching not caring whether anyone manages to get their clothes off. Tony would much rather have Steve in him.

When Steve pulls away to let him have some air, they're both panting hard. Tony starts chuckling in between breaths, dizzy and elated. 

"You're so hot," he says, which is not the most brilliant observation he's ever made, but it's difficult to focus on anything that's not Steve's cock, pressed against his thigh, as Steve keeps pushing against him with little twitches of his hips. Tony suspects Steve is also not focusing on anything that's not Steve's cock, either. That's also hot. Different kind of hot.

The smile Steve treats him to in return is, surprisingly, one hundred percent Steve. It's that dorky, goofy wide grin that Steve gets when he's about to make a terrible, _terrible_ joke.

"Why, thank you," Steve says, his mouth quivering in delight. "Glad you think so. You're not so bad yourself, either."

Pleased with himself, Steve starts laughing.

The only reason Tony doesn't punch him in the shoulder as payback for that bit of wordplay is that Steve is currently wearing pauldrons, golden metal covering his shoulders all the way up to his neck. For obvious professional reasons, Tony's pretty good at identifying the parts of a suit of armor. The pauldrons are definitely doing excellent things for Steve's already-impressive silhouette, accenting the breadth of his powerful shoulders. He definitely looks like someone Tony would very much like to fuck him right here on this table.

"Come on," Tony says, suddenly breathless. He raises his hand to Steve's face, runs his thumb over Steve's lips, the dimpled corner of his still-smiling mouth, the near-translucent stubble of his jawline. Steve doesn't have much in the way of bare skin, but Tony can work with what he's got. "Come on," he says, again. "Help me out here."

He's not exactly in the mood to let Steve go, so he's reduced to rolling his hips against him in illustration. 

Steve, brilliant tactician that he is, gets the message, and immediately rips Tony's shirt open. Tony's tie slithers off his shoulders and hits the table. Most of the buttons work free. One pops off. Tony can't really bring himself to care about that as Steve pushes the shirt off his shoulders and Tony pulls his arms free. Steve shoves a chair out of the way, backs Tony up against the table, and lifts him up, setting him down on the polished surface. Definitely also hot.

Tony gets his hands splayed out behind him on the table to try to balance himself as he tips backwards, because Steve is still pressed against him, bending forward with him, following him down, mouthing urgently at Tony's collarbone, kissing his way down Tony's chest. His mouth is hot and hungry, and he's working at the buckle on Tony's belt with one frantic hand, and that's good, that's great, he's moving right along--

"Please," Tony gasps, and the word is cut off by a groan as Steve bites his nipple at the same time as he gets Tony's fly undone and, oh God, _hands_ , yes--

Tony drops to his elbows and leans all the way back, arching up so Steve can slide his pants off. Steve steps away from him for the absolute minimum amount of time necessary to do so, and he yanks Tony's shoes off with them. Tony's clothes hit the floor. Tony's still got one sock on, but it's not like he's going to stop and fix it. Tony shivers -- the ambient temperature of the common areas of the Mountain is a little too cold for nudity -- but then Steve pulls him back up and into his feverish embrace again, and Tony's definitely not cold anymore.

"Lube," Steve rasps.

When Tony passes him the packet, Steve blinks and stares at it like he doesn't quite know what to do with this mysterious thing, even though he was the one who asked for it. Steve's not really thinking straight. He's distracted. Tony doesn't blame him.

Tony hisses between his teeth, plucks the packet from Steve's fingers, and rips it open himself. "Give me your right hand."

The hand Steve holds out is the gloved one, and also his left hand. Tony grins.

"Other right hand, champ."

Steve smiles sheepishly and replaces it with his other hand, and Tony squeezes most of the lube out onto Steve's bare palm, tossing the packet on the table in case Steve wants the rest later.

"Easier if you turn over for this part," Steve tells him, and Tony rolls over onto his stomach and slides halfway off the table, until his feet hit the floor, his chest still flat against the table. Steve has a hand on his back, bracing him, holding him firmly in place. If Steve wanted to hold him down, Tony wouldn't be able to stop him.

Also if Steve wanted to destroy an entire planet right now, Tony wouldn't be able to stop him. The current power play has a slightly higher power rating than usual.

Steve nudges Tony's legs a little wider, putting him right where he wants him, and Tony is suddenly, viscerally aware that they're in the middle of the briefing room, he is naked and hard and spread out in front of Steve, giving it up, all for Steve, and literally anyone could see him.

It's a pretty great feeling, actually.

"Two," Tony demands. "Come on, I can take two fingers, do it."

Steve is almost always scrupulously gentle with preparation, both because, well, that's the kind of guy he is, and also because they both know that Steve is, ahem, generously-proportioned. But Tony's not in any mood to wait, and he knows Steve isn't either.

He is immensely gratified when Steve immediately slides two big, hot fingers deep inside him, and he groans and clenches down around them. Steve's not fucking around. Thank God. Tony arches back toward Steve, as much as he can with Steve's other hand still planted on his back, desperate and needy. He wants this. He wants everything, right now.

"Like this?" Steve rumbles.

"Like that," Tony breathes. "Just like that, please, yes, more."

Steve fucks him with two fingers, a little rougher than he usually is, but, God, it's all so good. Tony is open, slick and wide-open, aching for more. The breath jolts out of his lungs every time Steve's fingers thrust in. The stretch is perfect. The heat is glorious.

"Tony," Steve says, and his voice is hoarse with need. "Oh, Tony, please, please let me--"

"Yeah," Tony tells him. "Yeah, go, go, go, fuck me, give it to me hard. I know you want to." He pauses, takes a breath, realizes he has one last thing to clarify. "On my back, though."

There's no way Tony's doing this without getting to watch Steve pound him. He has to see Steve like this. He _has_ to.

Steve nods. "I've got you."

He flips Tony so fast that for half a second Tony isn't sure which way is up, and his head spins like he's just pulled a loop at 3Gs. Tony breathes out, realizes Steve is above him, and figures that's as good a direction as any. He reaches out for him, his fingers catching on the back of Steve's remaining bracer.

At this angle, Steve is looming over him, still fully dressed, still armored. Tony's never felt more naked than he does right now. Tony knows, rationally, that Steve is barely taller than he is, but somehow he's _massive_. He looks powerful. He looks dangerous. He _is_ dangerous.

Luckily, danger seems to be one of Tony's major turn-ons right now.

Tony's not really sure how Steve's magic Phoenix outfit is supposed to come off, and he suspects Steve doesn't know either, but five seconds later there are seams where Tony could have sworn there was nothing and Steve is opening a fly that wasn't there before, and, okay, just for today, Tony likes magic.

Steve's cock is huge and hard in his hand, and it definitely doesn't look like he needs the help, but he gives himself a few strokes anyway, and Tony is always absolutely down to watch Steve jerk off. It's his favorite show. Steve whimpers and bites his lip, and Tony's positive from the careful, slow slide of Steve's fist that Steve is pretty close to done already and knows it.

Tony reaches out again, manages to actually grab Steve's hand this time, and tugs him forward. "Come on," he says, and he arches his hips. "I need that in me, soldier."

Steve nods once and steps in close. He hikes Tony's leg a little higher, and it's not the most comfortable position Tony's ever been in but also Tony is pretty sure this is going to be over fast. Steve's hands are on Tony's thighs, pushing him open a little more, arranging him exactly how he likes, and Tony has about three seconds to ponder just how good this is going to be, and then Steve slides inside him, slamming home in one deep thrust.

He's still hot, Jesus, he's still _hot_ , and somehow Tony hadn't thought of that but Tony isn't really thinking about anything right now except Steve's big, hard, _hot_ cock, stretching him open, a perfect stretch just this side of too much, and how he can get more of that in him.

Steve bottoms out, his balls slapping Tony's ass. They both groan at the same time, and for an instant there's a glimmer of light in Steve's eyes that's all fire, that isn't _him_ , that absolutely isn't human. But Tony knows, knows in his heart, that this is Steve and Steve isn't going to hurt him, and an instant later Steve's eyes are blue again.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Tony says, fervently, and Steve's hand tightens on Tony's hip, and Tony is pinned by so much of Steve, by his hands and his massive cock, and it's perfect.

Ordinarily, Steve would probably pause at this point. He'd make sure Tony was absolutely fine. He'd start off slow. Gentle.

But today is not an ordinary day, and Steve just _pounds_ him. He's not holding back. Steve never just takes what he wants, not like this. This is Steve just letting go, and it's the hottest thing Tony has experienced. Also, literally.

Steve sets a pace that Tony's never gotten from him before, driving into him, fast and heavy and hard. Knowing that this, right here, is just what Steve wants, exactly how Steve wants to get off, is doing incredible things for Tony. Every thrust leaves Tony breathless. Usually Tony's talking up a storm, urging him on, saying filthier and filthier things, but it's so good that Tony can't even begin to put words together. He's just along for the ride.

Tony can't stop staring at Steve's uniform, white and red and dazzling gold, almost like Steve's dressed himself in Tony's colors, in Tony's armor, and Jesus, _that_ is a thought, all right. Steve is immaculate, shining, alien, fascinating, and then he pulls back to thrust into Tony again and Tony catches a glimpse of bare skin in the open vee of Steve's pants: angular hipbone; tensed, trembling muscles; golden, dewy skin; a light trail of golden hair down to where their bodies are joined. And all at once, Steve is perfectly, messily human again, just a man who wants him. Tony can't hold it all in his head. He's not going to try.

Tearing his gaze away from Steve's body, he lets himself look at Steve's face. He expects Steve's expression to complement his actions; he expects to find Steve chasing his own pleasure, heedless of anything else. The tawdriness of pornography. But Steve is staring down at him, enraptured, _adoring_. His eyes are wide, his gaze fixed on Tony's face, and he's smiling. Steve knows exactly who he's with. Blissful, euphoric, Tony thinks no one has ever loved him as much as Steve does.

Tony's orgasm blindsides him. He hasn't come untouched in years, but that's exactly what he does as Steve pounds into him. The pleasure crests, breaks, and Tony is gasping, shuddering in Steve's arms. He thinks he might be saying Steve's name. He's dimly aware that he's making an incredible mess of himself; coming in spurts all over his stomach, up to his chest.

Tony sighs, all the tension ebbing out of him. Steve slows down a little, a silent question in his eyes, and Tony flails out an uncoordinated hand, trying to encourage Steve.

"Keep going," Tony says. "Hard as you want."

He tightens down, illustratively, and Steve groans deep in his chest and picks up the pace again.

It's nice like this, all fucked out, just letting Steve use him. Tony's just a little too sensitive like this, and he loves that feeling too, Steve overwhelming him with his touch, with his body. Steve's gripping Tony's hips tight, rocking Tony with him as he fucks into him, harder and harder. He lifts Tony up a little more and then he's in _deep_ , and Tony can feel the strange heat of him all through his body. Steve's eyes flash fire-bright, he clutches Tony to him, and he shuts his eyes and comes and comes. It's always a lot, with Steve. Tony absolutely doesn't mind.

Steve opens his eyes and he's human again. His face is even more flushed, and there's sweat coursing down the hollow of his throat. When Steve finally, gently, pulls out, Tony feels his come trickling out of him, dripping down his thighs. It's a mess, but Tony likes it like that.

Even Steve's superhuman endurance seems to have limits, and Tony's a little surprised when Steve sprawls forward, just barely catching himself with his hands so he doesn't crush Tony. He's lying atop Tony now, their bodies pressed together, chest to groin. The edges of the armoring of Steve's uniform dig into Tony's ribs, metal against sticky skin, but Tony wraps a lazy arm around him and pulls him closer anyway. He's definitely making a mess of Steve, but Steve burrows in close to him and doesn't seem to mind.

"Thank you," Steve breathes, softly. He leans in and kisses Tony's cheek, tenderly. His eyes lower, and there's even more color in his face. "I-- I really needed that."

"My pleasure." Tony grins at him. "Of all the times in my life I've gotten screwed by the Phoenix Force, I have to say I definitely liked this one the most. A-plus."

" _Tony_ ," Steve says, mock-reproachfully, and he's grinning back.

An unsettling thought occurs to Tony. "It's not-- it's not _in me_ , right? That's not how that works?"

Steve's gaze unfocuses; he's not entirely in his own head, and Tony's seen that look on the faces of so many telepaths. He's checking. After a few seconds, he shakes his head, and Tony's stomach unclenches.

"Nope," Steve says, confidently. "The only thing in you is, um. Me."

"Just like I like it," Tony says, and somehow Steve is even redder.

Tony laughs and kisses him. He should probably get up. He doesn't want to.

"Say," Steve says, "you ever thought about taking a turn at this?"

"This?"

Steve gestures vaguely at himself and Tony realizes he's just been propositioned to become a Phoenix Host. It's still not the weirdest thing that's happened to him today.

"I don't know," Tony says, honestly. "I might. Why, is it looking for a new host?"

"I think so," Steve says. "Maybe. And, uh, I think it likes your color scheme. I like your color scheme."

"You," Tony declares, "have excellent taste for an all-powerful cosmic force."

"Flatterer," Steve says, and he kisses him, passion gone to banked embers, enough warmth to make it through the night.


End file.
